The Dearly Departed
by x-Kim0x
Summary: Jack Branning is crushed to discover that ex wife Selina has been brutally murdered. He plans revenge, but who was really behind her death? Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Part 1

Part 1.

Jack Branning's hand quivered as he placed the receiver back down to where he had picked it up from mere minutes earlier; when everything had simply been normal. But now it was far from that position of stability, and such prospect was now laughable. He pushed the duvet back quickly, restlessly and relentlessly, before quite literally crawling out of bed. How could she have done this, such a terrible thing? What had he done so wrong to trigger this? What had gone so very wrong with her so as to cause this very violent, extreme and sudden reaction?

Outside, where all was well, birds sang and tweeted in the cold February air, beams of sunlight perpetrating through the black blinds which covered most of the relatively small window; Jack Branning was not known for his home comforts, as was evident from this fact. For Jack though, this was an insult; directly contrasting his very feelings at that moment in time. They hadn't been together; of that he was aware, but nothing could have prepared him for the utterly devastating, jaw dropping and heartbreakingly shocking news of which he had just become aware. How could she have done this, such a terrible thing?

Fewer than ten minutes had passed since Jack Branning had had his world literally torn apart at the seams by one simple phone call; a person on the other end who; he could feasibly predict, could not possibly begin to comprehend the sheer scale of his distress. To say that this was all the more devastating than the discovery that his daughter had been left paralysed in an exceedingly horrifying car accident at the hands of a drug dealing, psychopathic, abusive thug was a most despicable understatement. This was something else; the most powerful, horrifying and devastating nightmare; with no apparent cure.

The repetitive train of thoughts ricocheted through his mind like a coiled spring, threatening to leap out of his head. He sincerely wished it to do so. Willing, though, was not enough, nothing was. How could he live on? How could he even begin to recover from such an extensive shock? How could she do this, such a terrible thing? Such a bitter, indescribable reaction. That's what it was, but there was not one single thing in the entirety of the world; the universe, that could even begin to right it.

Revenge would most certainly not suffice. There was no way that suffering a thousandth of the severity of that which he was currently enduring; which he would continue to endure like the stabbing of a gleaming knife for the remainder of his days, could even be inflicted upon the individual, whom he'd thought he could trust. However pathetic any attempt at gaining vengeance would appear against the sheer scale and horror of what had occurred; what had been so savagely inflicted; would be better than sitting around.. tolerating, accepting and brooding. He could not accept it; never could he accept the events. To act, he'd need support…

"Ronnie!" Jack called loudly, desperately, pleadingly and ferociously as his eyes burned into hers and he almost fell over the kerb with the extent of the insurmountable burden which had been selfishly deposited upon him like bricks on a heap.

Ronnie, who had been facing Jack and was about to cross the road in order to head to the Cost Mart when she had heard Jack's desperate pleas ring out, stopped abruptly and took in the sight which presented itself to her. Slowly, she edged forwards towards him.

"Jack!" She voiced rather loudly. "How are you?" she asked gently, a concerned expression soon occupying her pure features.

Jack pursed his lips. "Honestly?" he asked matter of factly, before speaking once again. "Crushed. Crushed in the knowledge that such a sick, twisted and disturbed individual could even come to consider doing something like this."

Ronnie paused and gazed Jack in the eyes, concerned. "I did hear about it; wondered how you'd manage."

"So did I; all of fucking five minutes ago. Had some bint explain it to me on the phone, and then ask how I am. Two seconds later, when she'd told me that in the first place. What does she fucking think?" he asked, not anticipating an answer, simply letting his thoughts run away with him on yet another occasion. He wished his mind would follow suit.

"Some people can be so inconsiderate," Ronnie stated, slicing the silence which hung over both of them, due to the scale of the issue under discussion; which ought to just have been able to evaporate, in Jack's view.

Jack could only manage a faint mumble in response. "Mmm." A period which realistically must have been around 30 seconds passed, before he spoke up again, weakly, as if the entirely unexpected revelation of a total stranger was in the process of choking the very life out of his body.

"Not to mention the evil sicko that's done it…"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: Set slightly in the future. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Please review**

Part 2.

Various records filled the room in a continuous loop, one fading out and the other piping up so promptly that there was a distinct lack of a gap of even a second in length. Roxy Mitchell, one could deduce from attending this single party; detested the kind of atmosphere you got listening in on conversations at parties, and insisted constantly on a vodka fuelled method of dancing the night away. Rather, as it would be before the clock had even got the chance to strike 9; crawling the night away. And this was exactly how it was on this evening, December 31, 2008.

Born Roxanne, Roxy made her way sluggishly to the once alcohol ridden table, where bottles upon bottles had lined the sides, so much so that you'd have to be in the know or have an ariel photo of the area in order to be aware that snacks were in fact available. These however were most certainly not Roxanne's thing, who strongly morally objected to remaining sober, or attempting to lessen the effect of a drinking binge at any time of the year. New Year though was something else; a completely different ball game, kettle of fish; however you chose to refer to it.

Her vision clouded with what could almost be regarded cross vision; Roxy plunged straight for a bottle of whiskey, almost sending countless bottles of WKD, Bacardi Breezer, Smirn off ice and other alcopops crashing to the floor in the process. Her eyes fortunately froze onto a chair as she scanned the room, and she staggered over to the chair and threw herself back into it. "Vodka, anyone?!" She slurred, holding up the bottle of whiskey as if it were a trophy; searching ferociously for a glass, which she'd quite predictably forgotten to collect from the table anyway.

Ronnie, who had a heavy heart following her preceding exchange with local club owner Jack Branning; saw this out the corner of her eye, ditched the guy she had been talking to and shuffled over to join her drunken younger sister. "Already," she sighed, having glanced momentarily up at the clock and concluding that it was only just ten to nine. She'd done it again.

Toddling over to her sister who it appeared would drop off to her slumber at any second; Ronnie started, "Vodka you say, Rox?!"

Roxy knew better than to take her sister's sudden sarcasm lying down, and resorted to staring at the label for a second time. Deciding that she did not have the ability to deduce any remotely valuable information from it, she concluded that she was indeed wasting her time and frowned, balancing the bottle between her legs.

"Yeah," she claimed, drunkenly. "Why; you want some?" Being the type to liven up any occasion whatever it took; Roxy resulted to child's play. "Come get it," she instructed her sister, clambering to her feet as fast as she could, which, of course, was not very quickly at all; record breakingly slowly if the truth be known, like the end to a power-cut, which it seemed would never come to be.

"Rox!" Ronnie attempted to yell over the music which filled the room, causing many of the guests to collide with each other while dancing. "Don't be a fucking moron!" she demanded, cringing as she observed her baby sister, whom she had been forced to the limit to protect; attempted to clamber up the back of her chair as if it were a wall separating her from a world renowned party.

Roxy smirked. "No vodka; all the more for me then," she chided bashfully, still not realising her grave error as she abandoned her less than impressive search for a glass and proceeded to resorting to take a large swig out of the bottle, as if affected by dehydration.

"Vodka, right." Ronne repeated, issuing her sister with an implicit hint with which she'd at least expected her to come a little closer to Earth. Realising that this was not so, she spoke up again, "Of course that really explains why the vodka's over there, doesn't it.." Ronnie frowned disapprovingly at her sister.

Roxy's limited eye contact with her sister instantaneously reached a break, her attention captured in the extreme by the remainder of the bottles that stood on the table top. Vodka…

"Oh who cares; still alcohol aint it?"

"Damn right; Rox ha-"

Ronnie and Roxy's exchange was somewhat rudely intercepted by a man whom neither knew the identity of, who wasted no time in bellowing "OI LOVE, DON'T YOU SPIT IN MY WHISKEY!" as he stormed up to the pair from across the room.

"AS I WAS SAYING," Ronnie raised her voice substantially, "before I was so rudely interrupted by this… er- gentlemen here," she said of the balding male who most definitely was yet to hear of a slimming program, and who it was most probable, never would.

"He's well past it, Ron, look; he's old enough to be our granddad and could break a weighing scale… get a crane here, did he?"

An infectious laugh collided with the vibes of music which relayed around the room wall to wall. Ronnie, who continued to giggle uncontrollably at just how accurately her sister had managed to read her mind; whether intentional or not, piped up; hoping, 'to get a word in hedge ways' as her sister would so cleverly put it. "Rox, have you any idea how many units you've drunk tonight…?"

"You really need to start speaking English," Roxy gargled, slumping towards the emptying table of alcohol.

Midnight was fast approaching and with it the once plentiful supplies of alcohol fast diminishing. Roxy, who had been responsible for the vast majority of this alcohol, accompanied by a group of men who were no older than twenty five and who couldn't have been more of a contrast to their loudmouthed, beer bellied and rather insane uninvited guest. As the night went on, their activities grew further away from what any civilised person would consider be dancing, and being not particularly dissimilar to a ream of drunken fumbles.

Roxy Mitchell barged hastily into the lounge; the announcement from Peggy that 2009 was mere minutes away ringing in her ears. She fused her fingers round a glass as she passed the table, but what exactly was in it she did not know. It wasn't long before she'd grappled at the table and was strolling across its less than tidily placed tablecloth; pleading with the guests for silence which would surely never come. A meaningful stare from Ronnie saw her abandon these somewhat futile attempts as Big Ben began to chime.

"HAP-PY NE-WWW YE-ARRRR!" she slurred as loudly as her drunken state would allow, which was very loudly indeed.

"ROXY! GET DOWN OFF OF MY TABLE!" A furious Peggy yelled as she bustled into the ever crowding lounge bearing a tray laden with numerous party poppers. The new arrivals meant much euphoria between the guests, and in a frenzy of coloured orientated haze, the doorbell rung out intrudingly.

"Mrs Mitchell," an unfamiliar voice called, as the guests burst into uncontrollable laughter at the order of events. "Open the door; it's the police."

A drunken Roxy too joined in with the impending laughter spree at this, which continued until Peggy poked her head back around the door, police officers in her wake.

"Tell them we don't serve underage drinkers!" giggled an extremely sozzled Roxy; Peggy and the forbidden guests pacing towards Ronnie.

Ronnie's breath hitched in her throat and her blood flow almost came to a halt. "Veronica Mitchell," one officer spoke up. "You're under arrest."

The reply was instant; shocked. "WHAT?! What the fucking hell are you on?!"

"A lot less that you, by the looks of it." The police officer who had spoken diverted his gaze temporarily to his colleague. "I think we can add assault to the charge, Bob…"

"Bob the fucking Builder!" Roxy piped up, unexpectedly in the view of all those who had not yet become acquainted with her as an individual.

"Assault; what bloody assault?" Ronnie managed to ask, gob smacked to say the least.

"Verbally. This way, madam."

"Bollocks! There's no such charge." Roxy garbled in utter disbelief, as the jaws of every guest fell around her, one after another; Ronnie being led from the room.

"We'll make it resisting arrest, then…goodnight."


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Ronnie was led down the hallway by the second batch of uninvited guests of the evening as the now monotonous voice of Roxy Mitchell sliced through the silence once again; which had fallen over the room sharply due to the abrupt turning of events.

"OI! YOU CAN'T JUST ARREST SOMEONE WITHOUT TELLING THEM WHAT FOR. ASSAULT DOESN'T CUT IT, BORRIS!"

The guests were left reeling in the centre of the room; jaws dropping to the floor almost rhythmically as their neighbour and friend, and in some cases; confidante, Ronnie Mitchell, was led down the stairs by the police, the amount of which there were suddenly seemingly particularly few.

"Can't they?" Phil voiced sarcastically as he strolled into the lounge, positioning himself directly ahead of Roxy. It looked as if he were intimidating her. "Because I was under the impression they just did; or am I hallucinating?" he finished, not anticipating the response that he received; laced with hostility.

Roxy hesitated, but she was to no extent afraid of her cousin. She, amongst others such as Lisa Fowler; was of the opinion that Phil Mitchell had far exceeded the quantity of controlling action that you could expect to get away with, without an onslaught of something you most certainly did not bargain for. "I don't know Phil; are you back on the drink?" The once presumed part nightclub owner was extremely cautious so as to not to allow Phil the opportunity to speak. "There's your answer…" she declared, as she shot a meaningful glance at Phil. To say that he was opportunistic was an understatement; Philip Mitchell was one who would be quite contented in exploiting others, whatever their circumstances; to ensure gain for himself, and only him.

"I'd zip it if I was you, Rox," Phil informed her, although both parties concerned knew that the preceding exchange had been more of an imperative verb; an order, than a friendly opinion. Friendly was not Phil's way. Anyone could tell you that, providing they had lived in Walford for more than five minutes and had been conscious throughout the vast majority of this time.

"Yeah?!" She blurted, outraged. "Why should I?" she enquired, rightfully in her opinion; one sided as maybe.

Phil paused so as to castrate a reason to deposit behind his abruptly expressed suggestion; or order as some would have rightfully concluded; even from the briefest observation. "Because it isn't going to help anything, is it, Rox. And they've probably left one of their plonkers hanging around the place and they're probably have you off on a drunk and disorderly charge…"

"Doesn't help anything," Roxy mused, almost absentmindedly, largely due to the amount of alcohol she'd consumed that particular evening. "Pity you didn't consider that when you started drinking this place dry," she exclaimed, pointing at the everyday drinks cabinet, the capacity of which was bordering on average.

Phil scoffed. "Drink the place dry; what, with that?!" Phil scoffed and allowed his jaw to drop mockingly, relatively in control for a Phil Mitchell coupled with a New Year.

Roxy's eyes were like daggers as they burned into Phil's. She remained unable to decipher just why Phil would assume the subject of her point had been the cabinet of alcohol nearing microscopic in comparison with the bar and the cellar when combined to form one. "I meant with the booze out of the bar and the cellar, duh! Knowing you you might go and try to stick half a scaffolding pole in a barrel and attempt feebly to drink from that!"

"ROXY, STOP!" The familiar and nevertheless unwelcome tones of Peggy Mitchell barred the conflicting words of her relations viciously. The prospect of toning down and tranquillity were not attractive to Roxy, and were even less so due to the fact that her sister, confidante and roll model had been escorted from what should have been a memorable, enjoyable and relaxing party, leaving in its wake an emotional debt. Someone had to pay and it didn't matter who; for the party was ruined and would be memorable for years to come, but for entirely the wrong reasons. It had been a pile of stress, formed as the Mitchell's unwelcome guests had emerged.

"Get with the real world, Rox! Your sister has just been carted off by the old bill for resisting arrest and some serious charge, and all you can do is bang on about something that wouldn't even occur in a bloody comedy sketch!"

Roxy, having not been discouraged in the slightest through Phil's most recent outburst to date, continued with what could almost be considered as her mission; she had approached winding up Phil with such avidity and eagerness. "Arrest me for being drunk and disorderly?! She shrieked, scowling at him. "And what about you; branding coppers plonkers left, right and centre?" In reality, he'd done so almost latterly.

"What about me?" Phil sighed heavily, sick of being informed of the supposed error of his ways, practised for a bare minimum of 30 very long, tiring and laborious years. " 'Insulting a police officer?' I don't think so somehow." Phil chided almost angrily, and made his way hurriedly from the room.

"DID YOU REALLY HAVE TO?!" Peggy demanded loudly as she made her presence felt, feeling as if she'd dissolved into the room and uncomplicatedly become a part of the furnishings which now stood inconspicuously, sporadically placated around the room.

Roxy glanced down to her shoes. "Yeah.." Sensing her aunt was about to speak up again through what remained almost silence due to the vast number of shocked faces which littered the lounge following what was in their eyes, a careless, hurried and extremely wrongful arrest. "It made me feel much better as it goes…" she finished.

"Well cut it out would you; there are more important things with which to be concerned; like your sister and this laughable arrest for starters…"

"Anyone would have thought that copper thought it was her hen night," Roxy agreed, quietly.

"Interview with Veronica Mitchell; Walford police station, 1st January 2009; present DI Stephen Green and PC Robert Jones," an officer stated coolly; lacking emotion and to an extent, human characteristics.

The plumper of the two glanced across the desk at where a startled, shocked and appalled Ronnie sat, as if physically glued to the spot. She quivered slightly, several tears escaping from her tired eyes; lids threatening to come to a closure; promptly.

"Veronica Mitchell… you are charged that on the 30th December 2007, you did knowingly, consciously and intentionally murder Mrs Selina Branning.. could you tell us your movements of the night in question please…" the officer requested, although all concerned knew that it was basically an inescapable order.

With a newfound confidence sourcing from the knowledge of what her sister would be likely to voice in response to what she'd consider such an ambiguous charge, Ronnie wiped away her tears hurriedly with her sleeve, which had become stained with red wine earlier that evening; choosing to completely discard the question.

"Oh I did now did I; first I've heard of it!"

"Miss Mitchell!" the same officer barked at her, shooting at her a most meaningful glare. The other officer simply scowled from his place directly opposite her.

"Where were you on the night of the 30th December 2008?" voiced the clearly dominant officer in the interview.

Ronnie glanced down at the scratched table top momentarily. "Erm – I was with my sister, Roxanne Mitchell. We were arranging the party which you so rudely dragged me from; with our Auntie, Peggy Mitchell, mother of Phil, Grant and Sam Mitchell; late wife of Eric Mitchell. That good enough for you?"

The more complacent of the two officers looked as if he were laughing, but no sound emerged from his dry lips. "You don't seem so sure," the other one burst out, as if not to allow his partner for that day the opportunity to put a question to their interviewee. "Ask them; we were organising the party for the living room, 7pm onwards, 31st December 2008," Ronnie stated, confidently.

"I don't believe you. I'd seriously consider telling us the truth if I were you. All those details seem too coincidental, and we have evidence."

"I was arranging the party!" Ronnie persisted almost too quickly, urgently and desperately.

"How do you explain your finger prints we found on the knife lodged into the body of Selina Branning?"

"I don't know," she stated, detached. "Why don't you ask her late husband, Jack. He was the one asking for help to deal with the piece of lowlife behind this earlier; said he knew exactly who did it."

"Right.." one officer exclaimed, formulating his next argument in his mind. "You see we already have, Veronica; he was the one that pointed us in your direction; told us where to find you. He was lulling you into a false sense of security," the officer voiced triumphantly.

"Fine!" Ronnie yelled, breathing out steadily. "I went to Selina's with the knife meant for the steak at the party and stabbed her. You know why? Because she's an interfering, child stealing, manipulating little bitch! Jack didn't deserve have her taking his daughter away like that…"

The entirety of those still populating the Vic's lounge reeled, as if hanging from the ceiling by a wavy, deteriorating, fraying thread after the phone call from hell. The same as Jack had received a day earlier; a true likeness for a death sentence.

"She's hung herself completely; she'll get life…" Peggy told her guests who had refused to leave in the midst of all the commotion, and all died down to a deathly silence as the guests; who had come for the party of the year; filtered out of the room individually. And the party most certainly hadn't failed to live up to expectations.


End file.
